Princess Perfect
by Tkfan
Summary: Prince Becil has never been a fairytale prince. Clumsy and idiotic, Becil despairs of ever becoming a prince worthy of the throne. That is, until his mother cooks up a plan to find Becil the perfect princess to turn him into the perfect prince . . .
1. Chapter 1

**Princess Perfect**  
  
By: Tkfan

Edited by: RaspberryGirl  
  
It was the tenth anniversary of the King's death, and Queen Marie and her son, Prince Becil, were having a picnic by the palace lake. Celebrating a king's death wouldn't seem like a normal thing to do in most kingdoms, but both the Queen and her son knew how much the King had hated grieving. Especially if people were grieving for him.

So instead of blubbering over the King's grave, they celebrated instead.

Sitting on a red-checkered picnic cloth beneath the lazy branches of a willow tree, Queen Marie marveled at the beauty of her kingdom. The sun was shining brightly in a lovely, cloudless sky, when—_splash_!

Prince Becil, who had been strolling along the lakeshore, suddenly stumbled, pitched sideways, then fell right side into the water.

"_Darling_!" shrieked the Queen. She leaped up in a flash, gathered her voluminous skirts in one hand, and dashed towards the shore. The castle attendants raced after her. Becil floundered in the water and somehow managed to drift away from the shore rather than getting closer to it.

Marie reached the lake's edge and splashed into the shallows towards her son. "Becil! Becil!" she screamed the whole time, as if her son were drowning in an ocean instead of splashing around in the shallows of a lake.

"Mother, save me!" Becil cried. Then quite suddenly, he realized that his knees and legs were striking against solid ground. He stopped flailing, feeling rather foolish. He stood up just as Marie engulfed him in a hug and dragged him out of the water.

"Becil, my precious, my jewel, are you all right?" Marie sobbed, clasping her son to her enormous bosom.

"Mother, I'm fine!" protested Becil, squirming in the anxious Queen's arms. She was squeezing the remaining breath out of him. "Really!" He flushed, becoming more embarrassed by the moment as his mother continued to fuss over him. Becil decided to take refuge in his thoughts. This dunk in the lake reminded him of a similar event...

A few years back Becil and his friend, Demian, had been visiting a local diplomat's home. While Becil's father and mother poured over politics with that diplomat, Demian and Becil wandered off into the garden.

"This is all rather boring, don't you think?" said Demian. He plucked an apple off a tree that was growing over a lily-pond.

"Oh, yes." Becil nodded in agreement. He admired the way Demian had casually reached up with one hand, removing the apple from the tree in such a graceful manner. As Demian sank his pearly-whites into the apple, Becil reached up and tried to imitate Demian by picking the apple that was hanging over his head.

_Can't reach_...He stood up on tiptoes. _Almost there_—

He leaped and managed to grasp the fruit with both hands before landing on the ground, losing his footing, and stumbling headlong into the diplomat's pond.

Green water closed over his head. He was drowning...drowning...

Becil blinked. He found himself sitting at a long table covered with a lacy cloth. Four spirally candelabras were set up at intervals along the length of the table To his right sat a tall gentleman with a long curly mustache. Becil looked down to see a bowl filled with some sort of pea-green soup. He wrinkled his nose; it smelled rather foul. Becil wondered if a servant had gotten sick in it.

"How have you been, my prince?" asked the elderly gentleman, smiling at him.

Becil racked his memory for some knowledge of who this man was. His grandfather? No. A distant uncle? Highly unlikely. A courtier, perhaps? Ah! Now he remembered: this was Duke Frederick.

"I'm well," replied Becil as courteously as he could. From her seat to Becil's left, Marie beamed endearingly at him.

"Isn't my little Becil wonderful?" she gushed. Servants entered the room, each carrying a bottle and a wide-rimmed cup. Becil watched as an attendant set a cup in front of the duke and poured a dark violet liquid into it. It had a strong smell...he looked into his own cup.

"Cheers, Your Highness," said the duke. He raised his cup and gestured toward Becil. Confused, the prince picked up his cup and held it up. Frederick clinked his cup against Becil's and downed the contents.

Queen Marie watched, alarmed. "Dearest, I don't think you should—"

Too late.

As soon as Becil drank the stuff, it seemed to shoot immediately into his head. His eyes watered. The table started to spin, and his mother's face turned into a flesh-colored swirl.

_Am I dying? What if the liquid had been poison_? The prince watched unsteadily as the servant refilled the cup for Frederick.

"No, don't!" cried Becil, as Frederick lifted the cup to his lips. He knocked the goblet out of the duke's hands. It splashed down into the man's green soup.

"_What_ are you doing?" yelled the Duke angrily, just as the world darkened and Becil flopped over sideways. The foul greenish broth seemed to move closer and closer, menacingly...

"Becil. You're not falling asleep, are you?" Queen Marie's voice yanked him out of the dream of pea soup.

"No, Mother," said Becil automatically.

Marie was standing in front of him, her plump be-ringed hand resting on the shoulder of a young girl the prince's age. The girl simpered at him, showing crooked teeth. She wore a frilly pink dress, and her bleached blonde hair was curlier than the noodles Cook made.

"How do you do?" giggled the girl. She stretched out the pink dress and curtsied. "I'm Princes Lynette. My father's a king you know. He owns a big house with lots of towers. Hundreds of people work for him. All he has to say is 'Do this!' or 'Do that!' and they'll do it. Ah, you're a prince, aren't you?"

"Um..." stammered Becil as the girl's face came alarmingly close to his own.

"You _must_ be a prince." The girl answered her own question. "Your mother said so. Come on. You're a prince and I'm a princess. Give me a kiss."

For some reason, his face felt hot and his palms were getting sticky. _What's a kiss_? His heart started to beat as the girl's face leaned closer...

"_Gyaaah_! Get away from me!" screamed Becil. He turned and ran—someone was laughing at him. Strange, it sounded familiar...

Becil woke up, Demian's laughter still ringing in his memory.

"Oh, Becil, my love, why must you be so clumsy?" said Marie.

Startled, Becil turned to find his mother seated on a chair beside his bed. They were in his bedchambers in the royal palace. All those incidents had just been dreamed up memories. Memories that despaired him.

"Mother, did a fairy curse me at my christening?" asked Becil dejectedly. "I can't seem to do anything right. Remember that time I messed up the Duke Frederick's soup? And then the time when I ran from Princess..."

"No! Of course you're not cursed!" said the Queen. "Clumsiness is a thing that happens to all of us in our childhood. Do remember, darling, those accidents occurred when you were a child."

"But I'm seventeen now," cried Becil, falling back into his pillow. "And I tripped over a pebble today! A _pebble_, Mother! And I almost drowned in the shallows!"

"Your father would have laughed and told you to trip over a rock next time," interrupted Marie, smiling. "Your father had such a good sense of humor," she added. "A fine gentleman."

"And I'm not," said Becil flatly.

Marie's eyes suddenly acquired a devious glint. "Oh, but you will be soon!"  
  
**Author's Note:**  
My first story in a long time, this is a re-telling of the _Princess and the Pea_. Becil's name is pronounced as "Buh-sil". I hope you like the story so far My thanks to RaspberryGirl for being very patient with me and for doing the editing. Please read and review, and constructive criticism is always welcome .


	2. Chapter 2

**Princess Perfect**  
  
By: Tkfan

Edited by: RaspberryGirl  
  
Demian walked across the courtyard of the palace. Briskly, with his velvet cloak swirling glamorously behind him, he strode up to the doors of the most lavish of the royal buildings. He took a moment to glance at his reflection in the polished bronze door-handles and slick back his hair. His handsome face beamed back at him, revealing perfect white teeth and a regal nose. Mysterious green eyes, jet black hair—ah, he was gorgeous.

Not like that bumbling prince, Becil.

Demian's lips curled. The door opened and a servant allowed him to enter.

"I will be presented to Her Majesty, Queen Marie and His Highness, Prince Becil," he said to the page that hurried up to him. As Demian was led away, he ignored the fawning, dreamy smiles of the servant girls who waltzed by him on their way to their daily tasks.

---------------

"What did you say, Mother?" asked Becil dazedly.

"Well, since you've failed all the lessons on princely conduct, I've decided to try a new approach to your condition," answered Marie, dragging the prince through the palace corridors.

A door creaked open in front of them, and Marie swept Becil into the room.

A tall, thin gentleman turned from a portrait of the late King he'd been admiring and bowed to the Queen and prince.

"Wizard Osmand," said Marie elegantly.

"My Queen," said Osmand, smacking his lips against her hand. "And Your Highness." Osmand started to reach for Becil's hand, but the prince quickly snatched it away.

"Wizard Osmand?" said Becil, confused. What could a wizard do for him? "Mother, is this some kind of joke?" Becil thought dismally about his own ineptness in magic.

"Osmand, you tell him," said the Queen, smiling fondly at Becil. The prince suddenly had a bad feeling about this.

"Your Highness, we, the Legion of Court Wizards, have been puzzling over your case for some time. Of course, we are aware of all the previous attempts to change your awkward behavior. Not that your behavior is a particularly bad thing," added the Wizard quickly. "But I have invented a spell to cure you completely and so ensure the fulfillments of your duties as prince and future king of Galrona!" He ended with a flourish of hands.

Becil paled at the word "invent." He had not been deaf to the rumors about the Legion of Court Wizards. They were a group of eccentric magic- users that had dedicated themselves to inventing and improving spells for the benefit of the kingdom. They were also known as the reason why the palace gardens now played host to a variety of realistic human statues and why a storm of rancid green cheese had suddenly blown up a month ago.

"Has the spell been tested yet?" asked Becil nervously.

Osmand flashed his teeth at the prince and replied smoothly, "No, of course not, Your Highness. The spell's reserved strictly for _you_."

"Well, go on, dearest," said Queen Marie. "Don't you want to be cured of your clumsiness?"

"Yes, but not by _him_," he fiercely whispered back.

"Nonsense! I'm confident in Osmand's abilities. Now, go on." Stubbornly, Marie pushed Becil forward, ignoring her son's protests.

Osmand led Becil to the center of the room. He waved for the Queen to move back. The Wizard removed a chalky looking crystal from a small bag he wore at his side and started to sketch a large circle around Becil. The young man stood resigned, waiting for his fate as another garden statue to greet him.

After the circle was completed, Osmand walked the length of it, chanting.

Becil held his breath.

Osmand waved his hands and threw a bit of sparkly dust in the air over Becil and—_poof_.

Rancid smoke poured into the room, engulfing the wizard, the prince, and the Queen in its foul-smelling cloud. The odor reminded Becil of burning hair.

"Your Highness!" cried Osmand.

"Osmand, what's happening?" yelled the Queen. "Becil, are you all right? Darling, answer me!"

Becil stood with his eyes tightly shut and his hands curled into fists at his side. He was frightened. What would he find when he opened his eyes?

Osmand waved his hands, and a cool breeze wafted through the open window, gently clearing the smoke.

Becil opened his eyes.

At least he was still human, he thought with relief.

His mother and the wizard peered anxiously at him.

"Do you feel any different, Becil?" asked the Queen. Her son looked the way he always had, a little dazed and out of place. The only difference was that his hair and clothes were now covered in a fine layer of gray dust.

Becil flexed his fingers. He felt the same. But then again, _he_ wouldn't know how it felt to be not clumsy but gentlemanly. "I'm sorry, Osmand, but I don't think your spell worked," he said finally. The wizard looked disappointed. Queen Marie seemed as if she might cry.

"I'd hoped—" she started, then changed her mind. "At the very least, let's get you out of those clothes," she said instead.

Becil felt a stone form in the center of his stomach as a servant helped him change into clean clothes. Even though he was distrustful of Wizard Osmand's abilities, a tiny part of him had hoped that the spell would work, that he would emerge from it the perfect prince. Like his mother always wanted. But no, as with everything else that happened to him, something had gone wrong. He was still the same. Nothing had changed, Becil was still clumsy as ever—his fingers fumbled to button up his shirt—and he felt an overpowering sense of failure.

If only he could change.

A servant appeared in the doorway. "Your Highness, Lord Demian requests an audience."

---------------

Demian waited impatiently as a servant led the Queen and the prince into the chamber where he had been waiting for what seemed like years.

Queen Marie looked lovely in her elaborate gown, and Becil looked...as unremarkable as ever.

_Not like myself_, thought Demian, smiling to himself.

"Ah, Your Majesty," the young lord approached the Queen and bowed. Marie beamed at him.

"Demian, you look wonderful, as usual," said Marie.

"Thank you, my Queen." Demian flashed his heart-melting smile at Marie. As usual, the smile brought the desired results—the Queen blushed.

"Demian," said Becil, frowning slightly. After their last encounter, he wondered what Demian was here for.

"What, no warm greeting for an old friend?" said Demian, looking hurt. "I'd thought you'd be more happy to see me."

"Of course," answered Becil, pasting a smile on his face.

"What brings you here, Demian?" asked Marie.

Demian smiled. Just what he'd been waiting for. "Your Majesty, Your Highness, I think you will both be very pleased to see what I have brought."

"And that is...?" Becil raised an eyebrow.

Demian extracted from the folds of his cloak a small velvet bag. "In here is the solution to your problem, my prince."

Becil was taken aback. It was what he had least expected, Demian coming to help him. Or perhaps this was some plot of his cunning friend's...  
  
Demian reached into the confines of the bag and took out a small, shiny object, which he displayed before the Queen and prince.

Both Marie and Becil started in surprise.

Between Demian's gloved fingers glinted a small golden pea.  
  
**Author's Note:**  
Not much to say about this chapter, but I did have fun writing the encounter with Wizard Osmand . I hope you are enjoying this as much as I am writing it. Thanks again to RaspberryGirl for the editing. Please R&R


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